Max Thompson slammed the door to his room behind him, the echo reverberating through the narrow hallway. He was on edge, ready to head out for interviews at Rose's school. But Lisa was waiting for him, clutching a crumpled list of errands.

"Don't forget to pick up the baby's formula and some groceries," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "And we need a few more things for the apartment."

Max glanced at the list, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Lisa, I'm buried in work with this case. I can't keep running these errands. We need to cut back."

Lisa's face hardened. "Everything on this list is necessary. I could have been better off with someone who actually provides. Instead, I'm stuck with a kid and a husband who's always short on cash and can't even manage to bring in enough money."

Her words cut deep. Max's face flushed with anger. "You know what? You're being a real bitch. I'm working my ass off, and it's never good enough for you."

Lisa's eyes widened with shock, but she quickly hardened. With a fierce slam, she shut the door behind him. The sound rang in Max's ears as he fumed, storming down the stairs and out to his car.

Instead of driving to the school, Max found himself heading to a part of town he usually avoided—a dark, run-down area known for its brothels. The brothel's neon sign flickered weakly, casting an eerie glow over the grimy street.

Inside, the air was thick with the heavy stench of stale cigarettes and cheap perfume. The decor was a faded attempt at glamour, now tarnished by years of neglect. He approached one of the women seated by the bar, her expression tired and resigned.

"I'll take you," Max said curtly.

Max and the woman entered a small, dimly lit room at the back of the brothel. The atmosphere was stifling, and the worn-out furniture did little to alleviate the sense of decay. He shut the door behind them with a definitive thud, his mind still seething with the frustration he'd accumulated.

"Let's get this over with," Max snapped as he turned towards her. His tone was harsh, devoid of empathy or warmth. "You're here to do what I want, so just do it."

The woman nodded, her face a mask of weary resignation. "Just... please, be gentle."

Max's response was cold. "Gentle? I don't have time for that. Just follow my instructions and keep quiet."

He was brusque and demanding, his impatience and anger channeled into every interaction. He barked out instructions, his voice sharp and unfeeling. "Move this way. Don't make any noise. Just do what you're here for."

As the hours dragged on, Max's behavior grew increasingly unyielding. His commands became more clipped and his demeanor more detached. He was rough in his touch and dismissive in his words, projecting his anger onto her with a level of disdain that matched his inner turmoil.

The woman's attempts to comply were met with curt, dismissive comments. "You're not here to make demands; you're here to serve. Just do it right." Her quiet sobs and attempts to make the situation more bearable only seemed to enrage him further.

Max's frustration and sense of inadequacy, born from his conflict with Lisa and his struggles at work, found an outlet in this cruel display. He continued to treat her with a harshness that reflected his own internal chaos, unable to see past his own anger and resentment.

Hours passed in this grim, relentless cycle until Max finally left the brothel. The woman was left alone in the dim room, her tears a silent testament to the dehumanizing encounter she had just endured. Max, consumed by his own darkness, walked out into the night, the weight of his actions lingering heavily on his conscience.